


it's you and me, kid

by amillionsmiles, ineachandeveryway



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Chloe Character Development, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Volpina in a Big Sis Type Role
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-17
Updated: 2016-06-07
Packaged: 2018-05-27 05:51:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6272386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amillionsmiles/pseuds/amillionsmiles, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ineachandeveryway/pseuds/ineachandeveryway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'Adrien will meet Marinette at her locker every morning. A kiss isn't always necessary, but it makes for good effect.' / When a confrontation with Chloé spirals out of Marinette's hands, she does the only thing she can to resolve the situation—kiss Adrien Agreste. Wait, what?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. by virtue of chloé bourgeois

**Author's Note:**

> So, Katie and I are very avid fans of a certain book that goes by the name of 'To All the Boys I've Loved Before' and were inspired by its events to write up this shit storm. The kiddos are a year older here than they are currently in the series, but other than that, anything canon stands. We may apply a few popular fandom headcanons to future parts of the story line, though, so be on the lookout. . .

In a perfect world, Chloe Bourgeois would not be the living definition of “antagonistic”, and Marinette would not let her temper get the better of her.

But, alas, there are some things that not even a _“Miraculous Ladybug!”_ can set right.  Which is how Marinette walks into school on the Monday morning of what will later be remembered as the Longest Week of Her Life.

Alya drags her off the steps and into the bushes before Marinette can process anything, much less protest.

“What?” Marinette asks, glaring at her best friend for tugging her so roughly. She skirts some leaves off of her hair and fumbles with her shirt before catching wind of Alya’s expectant stare. The brunette has in her hand an issue of the academy’s monthly Gossip Gazette, an endeavor spearheaded by none other than Alya herself, though most of the articles are written by her classmates what with the demanding nature of the Ladyblog.

 _“What?”_ Marinette reiterates, confused. Glaring out at her from the cover is a typical shot of Adrien in one of his father’s newest designs. He looks rather handsome, but then again, he always has, and she’s not sure that’s the point here anyway. Alya watches her ogle the cover for a few seconds before groaning and rolling her eyes, flipping to an article midway through the booklet.

 _Oh,_ Marinette almost says, but doesn’t for loss of words. The picture facing her is a familiar and recent one, taken not more than four or five days ago. Chat Noir perches with poise on the edge of her balcony fence, his tail curling up into the air as an indicator of pleasure. Marinette stands just a few feet to his left, the flush of her cheeks and the pink of her nightgown dappled in moonlight. Without any context, it seems to depict a rather romantic rendezvous. Marinette, however, knows that it is anything but.

“Who wrote this?” she murmurs, roving her eyes over other pictures with similar shots but different angles.

Alya clears her throat, glances around nervously. “The new exchange student, Raffaela,” she replies.

Marinette arches an eyebrow. “You gave an _Italian_ exchange student the romance column? Over a Parisian?”

“I thought it might be interesting to have a different perspective,” Alya offers, and Marinette rolls her eyes. The bell signaling two minutes to first period rings sonorously across the campus grounds. Marinette stuffs the Gazette into her backpack and grabs Alya’s hand before heading inside. Though her initial reaction to the pictures was something resembling “somber,” Marinette’s heart only seems to pound faster and faster the closer she gets to her locker.

She’s never taken much to do with her “personal” relationship with Chat very seriously, but this certainly puts a new twist on things. Marinette’s hands tremble as she fumbles with accurately turning the dial on her lock. When she finally gets the thing to click, she opens her locker so violently that a dozen or so notebooks fall noisily from it. A few lockers over, Chloe says shrilly, “It’s not that big a deal. I mean, Chat Noir’s been in _my_ house _twice._ As _if_ he’d go for someone like _Marinette_ —”

Marinette slams her locker. Loudly. “I’m sorry, Chloe,” she starts, sugar-sweet, “but I don’t think green is really your color.”

Chloe swivels. There’s an awkward pause as she purses her pale pink lips, brow furrowed, until Sabrina whispers, “She means you’re _jealous,”_ and Chloe’s blue eyes narrow.

“ _Me,_ jealous?” asks the blonde incredulously, touching a manicured hand to her mouth in mock shock. A sinister simper laces her lips, and she lets out a nervous laugh. “At least I’m not hung up on someone I can’t even confess to.”

Marinette is about to cry out in agony at the fact that Chloe knows she likes Adrien, but she stops herself, realizing quickly that almost _every_ girl in school has a crush on Adrien. She rolls her eyes and darts a quick glance to Alya before replying, “Refresh my memory, Chloe, but how many times have _you_ confessed? Twenty, thirty? And he still hasn’t noticed you?”

It’s a cruel move; she realizes it the moment the words fall off her lips. But the world that revolves around Chloe Bourgeois is even crueler, and Marinette can’t help but fight fire with fire. She stands resolutely, watching as Chloe’s lip begins to tremble. “Well, it’s— it’s not like you have a boyfriend, either!” she shoots back. All eyes shift from the queen bee to her challenger. An air of suspense hangs about the hallway.

Marinette, thankfully, prides herself on her quick thinking. It’s what makes her Ladybug, after all. But right now she’s seeing more red than red-and-black spots, which prompts her to cross her arms and blurt out, “Actually, Chloe, I _do_ have a boyfriend.”

Alya, bless her soul, manages to hide her cough behind her hand. Meanwhile, Chloe checks her nails before smiling predatorily. The very obvious lie has her back to her original, caustic demeanor within seconds. “Oh, yeah?” she taunts. “Who?”

Marinette freezes, trying to maintain her bravado and quell the twitching sensation in the corner of her eye. Off to the side, Juleka and Rose shake their heads forlornly. Mylene, from her spot beside Ivan, sends her a sympathetic look. Marinette can sense everyone waiting for her to crumble under the pressure; they smell blood in the water, recognize when Chloe’s about to go in for the kill.

But Marinette is far from finished. She’s reigning co-champion of Ultimate Mecha Strike III.  She won a design contest judged by Gabriel Agreste. She’s Ladybug, protector of Paris. She is, in no way, going to be fazed by someone as petty and grating as Chloe Bourgeois.

And as luck would have it, at that very moment, Nino and Adrien—golden-haired, green-eyed Adrien, Paris’s posterboy Prince Charming—round the corner.

“Adrien,” starts Marinette, the name catching in her throat before she repeats, louder, “Adrien!  Good morning!” Already, a plan has formed; she bounds over to him, momentarily buoyed by her determination to undermine Chloe.

“Hey, Marinette,” greets Adrien, raising a hand. His eyes widen when Marinette, rather than stopping, throws her arms around him. “What—”

“Please-just-play-along-I-promise-I’ll-explain-everything-later,” Marinette says into his ear, all in a rush, before she squeezes her eyes shut and goes for it.

It takes a few seconds to register that the softness under her lips is not, in fact, Adrien’s cheek—which is what she was aiming for, Marinette _swears._ Nino’s “well, crap” is what tips her off—that, and Adrien’s sharp intake of breath as he places a hand on her back to steady himself because _she just kissed him on the mouth oh god oh god this isn’t what was supposed to happen he wasn’t supposed to turn his head cut cUT CUT—_

The only redeeming aspect of the whole thing is Chloe’s scandalized shriek in the background.  Marinette’s satisfaction is short-lived, however, as she pulls back, bracing herself for the worst. Her teeth clack unceremoniously against Adrien’s as she tears herself away from him, and she accidentally bites her tongue. Alya’s hand flies up to her shoulder in an attempt to steady her, thank God, because Marinette is 99.9% sure that she’s about to see stars. Her mouth is still the powdered sugar croissant from this morning, but her lips are strawberry tart. She doesn’t know whether she can bring herself to breathe.

“Um…” Adrien blinks down at her, dazed. He still has a hand on her back, burning a hole through her skin. For a fleeting second, Marinette thinks: _this is it, this is the moment he realizes he’s secretly in love with me, too_ , but she quickly dispels that notion because her mind proved it was incapable of acting rationally about five minutes ago. _Oh, god,_ she thinks _._ Does this count as harassment? What if she gets dragged to the headmaster’s? What if Adrien files a restraining order, what if—

“Marinette.” Adrien’s tone is reassuring, though bewildered. Marinette works up the courage to lift her face; Adrien studies her, mouth open as he struggles to form the appropriate question.  

Chloe beats them both to the chase. “Adrikins, _what_ is the meaning of this?”

Adrien’s green eyes flash upwards to look over Marinette’s shoulder.  His gaze darts around the hallway, taking stock of situation; Marinette holds her breath.  When Adrien glances back at her, something passes between them—an understanding, almost.

“Nothing, Chloe,” Adrien says easily, drawing Marinette closer to his side as he straightens. Alya’s hand falls away from Marinette’s shoulder, though she gapes all the same. Nino stands next to her, smirking beyond comparison. She punches him, before Adrien continues, “Just saying good morning to my…”

“Girlfriend,” mutters Marinette, not daring to turn around and face Chloe, lest she give the whole ploy away. Then, this whole mess will _really_ have been for nothing.

“…girlfriend,” Adrien finishes smoothly, just as the bell rings. He tilts his head to look at her, an uncertainty, but not annoyance, swirling in his eyes. Marinette gulps, leans back a little farther into the crook of his arm so as to settle herself. Alya and Nino file into place on either side of the “couple,” tentative smiles—each holding its own secret meaning—encouraging their friends. Thirty seconds to first period: homeroom—and everyone from the hallway will be there. Marinette gulps.

“Ready?” asks Alya, breaking the silence.

Marinette holds her hand.

“Ready.”

 

*.*.*.*.*

 

Things that Marinette knows about time:

  1. It’s relative.
  2. It’s very, very slow.



Professor Laurent drones on about division of labor and specialization while Alya slips a note across the table they share: _u ok?_

Marinette writes back with an emphatic _NO._

She can’t decide whether the whole situation is made worse by the fact that she and Adrien are friends. In the year that they've known each other, Marinette’s managed to get her stuttering situation straightened out. Attending the same lycée was her chance; this year was supposed to be _her year._ And then she had to go and blow it wide open.

In front of her, Adrien’s golden head remains attentive, following the teacher’s every word. It’s one of Marinette’s favorite things about him, how he doesn’t zone out like the rest of them—the novelty of being free of homeschooling still hasn’t worn off, Marinette supposes. As she looks around the room, she can’t help noticing how little the landscape has changed: different tables, different walls, but many of the same faces, the same seating arrangements.  

The same battles, Marinette notes grimly, as Chloe catches her gaze and narrows her eyes, glaring.

The more Marinette thinks about it, the more she stews in her seat. Why _shouldn’t_ she pull a fast one on Chloe? It’s not like her dating Adrien is that implausible. Crazier things happen all the time! People get possessed by butterflies. If she can manage a double life, she can manage a fake relationship.

The question just boils down to how exactly to phrase that so that it seems amenable to Adrien.

By the time the bell rings, Marinette has five different scenarios mapped out, only one of which involves bribery and only two that involve begging.

All five, however, require an empty classroom.

“Dude, come on,” groans Nino, foot tapping as he waits for Adrien to finish gathering his things. The rest of the class has filed out, but Marinette has an off period, and she knows Adrien does, too.

( _Completely_ coincidentally, she swears.)

Alya clears her throat, trying to get Nino’s attention.

“Like, I know _you_ ’ _ve_ got time, but I have to stop by my locker, and—”

 _“Ahem,”_ Alya tries again, this time more forcefully, causing Nino to look up.

“ _Oh,_ ” Nino says, catching on. “On second thought, take your time, take all the time you need—”

“—swear, Nino, one of these days I will actually shove your socks in your mouth,” comes Alya’s reply as she drags him by the arm out the doors.

When the two of them are finally gone, Adrien seems to deflate, setting his book bag back down.  

“So…” he turns, rubbing the back of his neck. “About this morning…”

“Right. That about. I mean, about that, I wasn’t— trying to make a move on you or anything, you know. You’re not that— I mean, you are, _totally_ — great, I— argh!” Marinette slams a fist into her palm and takes a breath. “Can I start over?”

Adrien makes an awkward motion with his hand. “By all means.”

 _Start with Chloe._ She can _definitely_ articulate her feelings toward Chloe.

“So this morning, there were those pictures in the Gazette.”

“Which ones?”

“The ones of me and Chat,” says Marinette, making a face. “And they kind of set Chloe off, for whatever reason, which set _me_ off, which is why I pretended you were my boyfriend.”

“I think I picked up on that much,” cracks Adrien.  He studies her carefully. “So what do you want to do?”

“I want to keep it up,” blurts Marinette, before she realizes that she sounds maybe a little too eager and dials it back. “Just for a little while longer, at least. So that Chloe’s somewhat convinced it was real and so that I didn’t drag you through all of that for nothing.”

“You… want to be my fake girlfriend,” Adrien says slowly.

 _Real girlfriend, preferably,_ Marinette amends in her head, but out loud she simply points to him and says, “Yes.”

Adrien rests his chin on his hand, thinking. “What about Chat?”

Marinette blinks. “What?”

“Those pictures with him are what started this, right?” prods Adrien, seeming strangely earnest.  “So what exactly are your feelings toward him?”

“He’s…” _Reliable. Trustworthy. Flirts too much for his own good and probably doesn’t know the meaning of sleep._  All things Ladybug would say, but Marinette isn’t Ladybug right now. “He’s saved my life quite a few times now,” she comes up with. “He’s cool.”

“It’s pretty hard for me to compete with a superhero,” muses Adrien.

“I— I think we’ll manage,” Marinette says, eyeing him.  Is he seriously considering her proposal?

Adrien ponders things for a long time. He seems to be running some sort of calculations in his head, twisting the ring on his right hand absentmindedly as he gazes out the window.  Eventually, the math must check out, because he turns the full force of his green eyes on her—Marinette holds her breath, because for a moment there’s something sly and slightly wild in their depths, not unsettling so much as familiar—and says, “Okay.”

 

*.*.*.*.*

 

What has her heart fluttering many hours later is a list that’s tucked into the back pocket of her pink jeans. It’s written in her flowing cursive onto a seven by seven page from one of her moleskines, and the words of it burn into her skin. Marinette lies in bed, resists the urge to retrieve the list for a measly two minutes before leaping across her room and to her closet. This will be the fourth time today that she’s reread it, and though she already knows the words by heart, there’s a part of her that wants to see his name fleshed out next to hers.

She slips out the paper with two fingers and unfolds it carefully, spreading it out against the flat of her knee. It reads:

* * *

 

**MARINETTE & ADRIEN’S CONTRACT**

 

  1. Marinette and Adrien will “date” each other for two months before breaking things off in a civilized manner. (This means no acting like Chloe on either end.)
  2. Adrien will meet Marinette at her locker every morning. A kiss isn’t always necessary, but it makes for good effect.
  3. Adrien will get a 15% discount on all goods at the Dupain-Cheng bakery, but only while “dating” Marinette. (In return,) Adrien will come over to Marinette’s house every Friday to pose for her in her designs.
  4. Public displays of affection will be held as necessary action between the hours of 8 A.M. and 6 P.M. If Adrien and Marinette are out on a “date”, this may be subject to change.
  5. Any and all disagreements shall be handled by means of _physical_ conversation, not textual. (Holding said conversation over a bread basket would also be nice.)
  6. Marinette will do her best to remain friends with Chat Noir and convince him that any affection she holds for him is purely amicable.
  7. However, Marinette will also get an autograph from Chat Noir for Adrien to have. (Alya will be responsible for getting an autograph from Ladybug, of course.)
  8. Adrien will do his best to slip some of Marinette’s designs into his father’s office, though never at the cost of impending punishment.
  9. Nino and Alya, though they are not currently present, will be sworn to secrecy concerning this matter and will help in any way, shape, or form.
  10. Marinette Dupain-Cheng and Adrien Agreste are hereby held to this contract by the virtues of friendship and a certain Chloe Bourgeois. May their signatures attest to this fact.



 

_Marinette Dupain-Cheng_

**Adrien Agreste**

 

* * *

Marinette giggles to herself. She had insisted for the purpose of being professional that Adrien sign his name in cursive, but the poor boy had told her that compared to her elegant penmanship, his awkwardly looped letters were simply a disgrace. Even his print, she can tell, was written with painstaking care, as evinced by the tremble of his every line.

She wants to pin it up on the wall as a reminder that this is _real,_ she’s actually pulling this off—but for secrecy’s sake she tapes it into her diary and turns the lock.

Tikki, having read every word of the contract when Marinette first took it out, sighs defeatedly. The Kwami spent a good fraction of her afternoon with Marinette trying to coax the girl out of the sly business deal. She prides herself on her sensibility, Tikki does, and this situation does not look to her like one punctuated by such a trait, though her partner can’t seem to grasp that fact.

“I’m still not sure you know what you’re getting into, Marinette,” she tries, yet again.

“Relax, Tikki,” assures Marinette. “It’s nothing that Ladybug can’t handle, right?”

The Kwami gives her a questioning look and folds her arms. “You’ve told me before that Marinette and Ladybug are two very different people, so I’m concerned, is all.”

Marinette waves her hand dismissively. “Like I said, Tikki, relax.” She climbs into bed and pulls the covers over her head, unable to hold back an elated giggle because _she_ , Marinette Dupain-Cheng, is about to embark on an incredible adventure, the center of which can be traced all the way to Adrien’s lips, Adrien’s hands—Adrien, Adrien, _Adrien._ The thought of it is enough to drive Marinette into a pillow-screaming frenzy, so she turns her head into the feather-filled object.

And thus begins Day One.


	2. the short end of the stick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> LOLZ, I can tell that these chapters are only going to get longer and longer. Katie and I had an immense amount of fun with this, and I think we can both agree that one of the best things to write in this chapter was the dialogue! (There's also the little Easter eggs concerning Adrien and how his being Chat Noir complicates the situation, he he he.) But needless to say, things are certainly starting to gain pace and go somewhere, so please stick with us, if you will!

“Dude,” Nino says once Adrien finishes explaining the situation to him, “that is so messed up.”

Adrien balances a basketball in his left hand, staring up at the cavernous ceiling of his room.  “Is it really?”

Through the phone, he can hear Nino playing around with some sort of recording as they talk. “I mean, Marinette’s cute and all, but do you really think you can pull this off? Like what exactly are you getting from this—and _don’t_ say cheap sweets.”

At first, Adrien is a little bit taken aback by Nino’s lack of support. But after listening more carefully, he realizes there’s a certain slant to Nino’s questioning, as if his friend is prodding to see just how serious he is about Marinette, fake relationship or not.

And he _is_ serious, even if he doesn’t quite know how to explain it yet. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that there’s the Marinette who rolls her eyes at Chat and the Marinette who sometimes stumbles over her sentences around Adrien, and he wants to figure out where they overlap.

Or maybe being Chat Noir has just conditioned him to have a soft spot for strong-minded girls with plans, no matter how convoluted those plans may be. If nothing else, Adrien could at least benefit from the experience. He’s hardly one to think that all girls are the same, but any insight gleaned from dating Marinette could help significantly in his quest to woo Ladybug.

A bit of guilt pricks his chest at that thought. Does this count as infidelity? Is there even such a thing as fidelity in their arrangement? Is he allowed to talk to other girls? _What if Marinette fake breaks up with him because he’s a lousy fake boyfriend?_

“...Adrien?” prompts Nino. “You still there, man?”

“Oh, god, Nino,” he groans in response, dropping the basketball and covering his eyes with a hand, “I am in _way_ over my head.”

 

*.*.*.*.*

 

He seeks out Marinette first thing in the morning; she’s already at her locker, waving a notebook around in one hand as she talks to Alya.

Adrien sneaks up behind her, slipping his hand into hers.

“A— Adrien!” reacts Marinette, jumping almost a foot into the air and nearly dropping her notebook.

“Morning, princess.” Halfway through his wink, Adrien freezes. Oh, no. They didn’t discuss pet names. What if Marinette hates them? Worse, what if she connects the dots—

Alya watches the two of them, smirking. “ _Well,_ ” she declares, purposely projecting her voice, “it’s nice to see you two finally being open about your relationship.”

“Y— Yeah,” says Marinette, who has recovered from gaping at Adrien. She looks up at him and smiles, seeming more at ease when she echoes, “It’s nice.”

They stand there for a few minutes longer, Alya and Marinette slipping back into their earlier conversation now that the disturbance caused by Adrien’s appearance has resolved itself. It’s awkward but not entirely uncomfortable; Marinette’s palm is soft, though the callus on her thumb becomes obvious as she absentmindedly runs it back and forth across the back of his hand. _Probably from pricking herself so many times with a needle,_ Adrien thinks.

He’s not sure what to do with his other hand, though. He tries shoving it in his pocket, but it feels too much like one of his photo shoot poses, so he takes it out. Alya and Marinette do their best to involve him, but they keep flitting back to the same topic, the newest episode of some show that Adrien doesn’t watch. ( _Pixie Girl_ , he files away for later.)

His boredom is short-lived, though for better or for worse, he can't tell.

“Chloe’s here,” he murmurs into Marinette’s ear, squeezing her hand, eyes tracking the forceful path of a certain blonde.

“I know,” she replies out of the corner of her mouth, squeezing back. When she sways closer to him, he gets a whiff of vanilla, and Adrien fights the urge to close his eyes and bury his nose in her neck.

“What should we do?”

“Nothing too flashy,” instructs Marinette. “Just something simple, to show that we’re obviously comfortable with each other.”

“Like a kiss?” asks Adrien, thinking back to their contract.

“If you want.” Marinette’s eyes dart to the side, and Adrien realizes that Alya has conveniently disappeared.

“Okay.” His heart beats a little faster as he places a hand on Marinette’s shoulder. Should he just go for the lips? Somehow, in the midst of everyone else coming and going, it seems inelegant, too staged. A kiss on the cheek, then? Or is that too kindergarten? Do forehead kisses make him seem like a prude?

Marinette seems to sense his distress and pulls his hand off of her shoulder, tangling their fingers together instead. “ _Or_ you could just carry my books for me as we walk to class,” she suggests, a teasing lilt to her voice.

Adrien reaches around her to pull out her history textbook, resting it in the crook of his arm. “After you, my lady,” he gestures, regaining some of his confidence. As the two of them pass Sabrina and Chloe, he smiles to himself.

Crisis averted.

 

*.*.*.*.*

 

 _“So.”_ Chloe corners him on the front steps immediately after school. Marinette has rushed home, something about not having started the project due tomorrow yet. “Are you and her,” the blonde pauses, shuddering, “ _really_ dating?”

“ _Her_ name is Marinette,” says Adrien, untangling himself from Chloe’s arms, “and yes, we really are dating. We _have_ been. For a while.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me, Adrikins,” pouts Chloe. “After we’ve been friends for so long.”

“Er, right. I just wasn’t sure, um, how well you would take it,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck.

Chloe clasps her hands together and flutters her eyelashes at him. “You know I’ll always support you, Adrien. So how long?”

“What?”

“Exactly _how long_ have you two been dating?” prods Chloe, poking his chest.

On the one hand, Adrien wants to run as far away from this interrogation as possible. On the other, he needs practice rehearsing his and Marinette’s cover story. And in a weird, twisted way, it feels good to talk about the fake history he and Marinette have conjured up, even if it’s to Chloe.  

“Since… midway through summer holiday,” begins Adrien. “You know she does all that stuff for Jagged Stone now, and we bumped into each other during his concert—”

“Jagged Stone,” repeats Chloe, wrinkling her nose. “How romantic.”

“It really was,” gushes Adrien, getting into it. “With everyone so close to each other and the flashing lights, we just started talking and I realized—”

“ _O-_ kay,” says Chloe, holding out her hand to inspect her nails in a gesture that means she’s moved on. “Enough about how you met. What about her favorite flower?”

“Favorite… flower?” Adrien repeats, floored.

“Yeah.” Chloe sizes him up. “You’ve been dating for, what,” she pauses to count the math off on her perfectly manicured fingertips, “five weeks, now? Surely you must know these things.” She rests her cheek against her clasped hands, blinking at him innocently. Adrien is surprised Sabrina isn't somewhere nearby, recording the conversation.

“Yeah,” he sweats. _Think, Adrien, think._ Chat Noir. Balcony. Veiny magenta petals. “Orchids,” he blurts. “Marinette loves orchids.”

Chloe looks at him doubtfully but doesn’t question him, and it’s then that Adrien realizes that she’s unlikely to know Marinette’s favorite flower, either. He presses the advantage, babbling, “She likes that they come in so many different varieties, and that she doesn’t have to water them a ton.”

Chloe opens her mouth, probably to spout something along the lines of “what a dumb reason”, but Adrien is saved by the sight of his father’s limousine pulling up to the curb. He breathes a sigh of relief; never has he been more grateful to see Gorilla.

“Got to go, Chloe. It was nice talking to you!” he says, dashing off. Chloe splutters behind him but manages to wave a sugar-sweet goodbye as they pull out of the curb. Adrien laughs when Sabrina appears mere moments later, her phone in hand.

“Eventful day, Mister Adrien?” grunts Gorilla, eyes focused on the road ahead.

Adrien disguises a snort.  “You could say that.”

 

*.*.*.*.*

 

Once he’s at home, Adrien fires off a quick text before hopping into the shower.

 **Adrien:** Question: what’s your favorite flower?   

Less than half an hour later, after toweling off his wet hair and flopping onto the couch, he picks up his phone to find several new messages:

 **Marinette:** ooh well I like lilies

                           and gardenias smell nice

                           OH AND ORCHIDS!

                           wait

                           why

                           ??

He fights back a grin, giving himself a mental pat on the back.

 **Adrien:** Reasons.

His finger hovers over the send as he debates whether to add a winking face; he ends up deciding against it.

 **Marinette:** fineeee

so what’s up?

 **Adrien:** Chloe got me today after school.

 **Marinette:** oh boy

                           and?

 **Adrien:** Told her our cover story. We’re good. :)

 **Marinette:** nice

                           !!

 **Adrien:** How’s your project coming along?

 **Marinette:** ughhhh

                           I’m taking a break

                           I can’t believe you already finished yours

 **Adrien:** Side effect of growing up with Nathalie breathing down my neck, I guess.

                      Hey, what’s your favorite color?

 **Marinette:** are we playing 20 questions or something?

                           green, I guess

                           what’s yours?

 **Adrien:** Blue. But not dark, more of a sky blue, like

Adrien slides off the couch and goes to his closet, fishing around for the scarf from his father. Snapping a photo, he sends it to Marinette.

 **Adrien:** Like that.

There’s a long pause. The little bubbles that indicate Marinette is typing appear and fade out, and after five minutes of silence, Adrien figures that she’s probably gone back to work on her project. Eventually, though, his phone lights up again.

 **Marinette:** yeah, I’ve seen you wear that scarf a lot!

                            it’s from your dad, right?

 **Adrien:** Yeah. Normally he gets me a nice pen for my birthday, but it’s nice that he changed it up.

 **Marinette:** hmm

                           what do you want for your birthday this year?

 **Adrien:**  You don’t have to get me anything! My birthday’s after our contract expires, anyways.

 **Marinette:** so?

                           we’ll still be friends, silly

 **Adrien:** True.

                        I’ll have to think about it.

                        What about you?

 **Marinette:** chrono spacefighters 2!

 **Adrien:** Why am I not surprised that you play that game…

 **Marinette:** heehee

 

*.*.*.*.*    

 

It’s odd how quickly that first substantial text from him spirals into an endless conversation. Though he’s considered Marinette a good friend for the past year, their conversations never ventured outside of the quotidian and typical. He never particularly delved into learning more about her and knew little more than these facts: that Marinette was a designer, her parents bakers, and her whole family some of the kindest people on this earth. Now, though, after five days of rapid back and forth, he knows, among other things: she blasts Jagged Stone’s music while drawing but likes _Air_ from Bach’s _Orchestral Suite No. 3 in D Major_ for sewing, hates peas in anything except for her mom’s fried rice, and had to get stitches when she was really little because she tumbled down the stairs.  

Adrien looks away from his phone briefly to make sure that no one has been calling for him, only for Raffaela, sitting across from him, to laugh. The Italian is a model herself, though not as visibly bothered by the daily stresses of the job as is her French counterpart. She perches idly on a divan, long, olive legs crossed and hands stretched out as someone does her nails. Adrien blushes. “What?”

Raffaela smiles slyly, replying, “You’re very jumpy today.” It’s been only four months since she moved to the fashion capital of the world, yet somehow she’s managed to grasp the ins and outs of Adrien’s character and entire life story within that time span. She watches him with a scrutinizing but amused eye, interested to see how he defends himself.

“I’m not jumpy,” he says sheepishly, “just… cautious.”

“And because of what—your phone?” If Raffaela wasn’t the one to say those words, it would almost have been as if Gabriel was scolding him. “I figured that Nino was talkative,” she muses, “but _this_ talkative?”

The blush coloring his cheeks deepens slightly as he murmurs, “I’m not talking to Nino.”

_“Oh?”_

His eyes dart to his phone when it buzzes with a new text, fingers flying across the screen in response. Raffaela looks on in amusement, so piqued by this sudden spike in her friend’s vibrancy that she nearly knocks her fingernails against each other. It’s rare of him to express genuine happiness within the studio; she likes it immensely.

“Hey, lover boy,” she prods, having guessed as much. Adrien’s eyes blow wide, and he blubbers incoherently before his hair stylist complains that he is moving too much.

“I’m texting Marinette,” he says finally, though not without giving her a pointed look. “You know, the girl you wrote an entire exposé on?”

Raffaela grins, waggles an eyebrow. “Taking those pictures was actually quite the experience. You could really tell that he was just _dying_ to kiss her and that she wanted to do anything but.”

“What makes you say that?” he asks, almost too quickly. He’s willing to admit that under the guise of Chat Noir, his tendencies to flirt are more prominent than usual, but as for harboring any true romantic feelings for Marinette—well, not that she isn’t wonderful, but it’s simply out of the question. His heart is and only ever will be the property of one Miraculous Ladybug, and the fact that someone seems to think otherwise doesn’t bode well for his efforts at all. (Not that Ladybug pays them much attention to start with.)

“My camera’s zoom feature,” Raffaela deadpans, then amends, “and their eyes.” She looks away from her nails to hold his gaze. “There’s a lot to see in a person’s eyes,” she murmurs. A semblance of knowing rests in her face’s every contour, and it unsettles him, though only for a moment. Before long, she’s engaged herself yet again in an inspection of her manicured nails, and any mention of the exposé is forgotten. Adrien is finally called for by his father’s best photographer, and the models part ways, each posing for a different section of this month’s _Gabriel_.

The photo shoot takes a few grueling hours, as per usual. Adrien sags his shoulders as he exits the studio; it’s only four o’clock, and he’s already beat. He has no idea how he’s going to fare on his date—once every two weeks, to keep up the image—to the farmer’s market with Marinette. In fact, when Raffaela comes up from behind and barely taps him on the shoulder, he jumps violently into the air.

“So,” she asks, “what are you doing after this?”

“Meeting up with Marinette.”

“First texts, now a date? This is certainly new.”

“Not really, actually.” Adrien pauses, considers his options before continuing, “See, we’re dating.”

Raffaela arches her eyebrow and giggles teasingly. “No wonder you were being so defensive earlier,” she says. “It all makes sense now.”

Of course, by this time, the guilt of it all has been eating at Adrien very, very quickly. Lying to Chloe is one thing, but to Raff? Aside from her gossiping tendencies, she’s the first real friend he’s been able to vent his occupational and familial frustrations to. Filling her innocent (yet certainly opportunistic) heart with lies seems to him like an incredibly wrong thing to do.

“Okay, well—we’re not _really_ dating,” he says, “just ‘dating’,” and he makes sure to mark the word with air quotes. Raffaela blinks before folding her arms across her chest and eyeing him expectantly. _Oh, yeah,_ Adrien muses silently, _I definitely wasn’t about to gain anything from lying to her._

He tries to fit as much of his and Marinette’s initial conversation into the short walk from the studio’s doors to his father’s limousine. Gorilla stares at him all the while, but thankfully makes no motion to get Adrien into the car by force. As soon as Raffaela’s figure is lost to shadow, the chauffeur turns the key in the ignition and speeds away in a direction opposite to that of the Agreste residence.

In the cushy interior of the limo, Adrien clasps his hands in his lap, gathering his energy.  The afternoon might be long past him, but it feels like now is when his Saturday truly begins.

 

*.*.*.*.*

 

It took a lot of convincing from Nathalie, admittedly, for Gabriel Agreste to allow his son to idle around for one evening, but by some _miraculous_ stroke of luck, she managed to secure her superior’s approval, which is why Adrien finds himself heading to the farmer’s market today. As an added advantage, the fact that Gabriel is aware of his newly budding “relationship” should only help with matters concerning Chloe, considering how much she tries to kiss up to his father.

Adrien knows that they are close when an amalgam of aromas filters in through the slit of his barely let down window. He closes his eyes and tilts his nose up, incredibly tempted to let it twitch. Plagg, tucked into the pocket of his shirt, inches out for an experimental sniff. The Kwami’s eyes perk up almost instantly, and he whispers with excitement, “Oh, goodie!”

“Camembert?” Adrien asks, though he already knows the answer.

 _“Pounds_ of it,” Plagg replies, humming contently just as they pull up to the front of the market. There are dozens upon dozens of stands littering either side of this street in Paris, and Adrien drinks as many of them in as he can. He mumbles a distracted “goodbye” to Gorilla before stepping to fully face the market. It is almost too much for him, this picture of culinary splendor, and he nearly forgets that he has to call Marinette and find out where she is.

“Hey,” she breathes when he finally remembers.

“Hey. Where are you?”

“By the cheese stands, actually,” Marinette laughs. “My parents need a few varieties.”

Adrien blinks. “Your parents are here?”

“Yeah… I know it’s not ideal but—”

“No, no, that’s fine!” he says, smiling to himself. “I like your parents.”

“Oh, okay. Should I hang up?”

“Uh, yeah! Yeah. I’ll meet you there. Bye.” He ends the call with his heart all in a tizzy because he’s about to spend the rest of his day with two of the greatest parents he’s ever met. Not that this doesn’t put a damper on their image as an exclusive couple—as Chloe would probably say, _who goes on a date and lets their parents third wheel?_ —but the opportunity to spend time doing something that’s actually normal is heartlifting. Adrien runs a hand through his hair and blinks his eyes a few times before setting off, a newfound skip laced into his step.

“Adrien, over here!” calls out one very excited Sabine Cheng a few minutes later, her arm waving wildly in the air in an attempt to get his attention. Adrien waves sheepishly back while Marinette does her best to quell her mother’s elation. Tom, in the meanwhile, stands off to the side inspecting an endless assortment of cheeses, his brow furrowed in concentration. When he finally settles on a pepper jack and a mascarpone, Marinette’s father turns to face Adrien with a similar gleam burning in his eye.

“It’s good to see you, Adrien,” he says wholeheartedly, shaking the boy’s hand. Marinette’s mother, still a little jumpy, rushes up excitedly afterward, almost refusing to let the model’s hand go.

“I’m surprised Marinette didn’t tell us that you were dating sooner,” she begins to ramble, “considering how she’s had a cr—”

 _“Hey,_ Adrien,” interjects Marinette, grabbing onto his arm and then rushing to let out the most incoherent sentence he’s ever heard in his life: “I-think-I-really-want-to-go-look-at-some-cabbages-now-don’t-you-of-course-you-do-now-bye!” She tugs him in the direction of the produce stands, to Plagg’s disappointment. The poor Kwami has to hide a lamenting moan in the fabric of Adrien’s pocket, though his partner taps his head encouragingly as a promise of Camembert later.

“So…” he offers, “cabbages.”

“Yeah,” she breathes. “You a fan?”

Adrien smiles, embarrassed by what he says next—“as far as Avatar goes, I guess”—but less nervous when Marinette snorts into her hands and giggles. “Me, too,” she offers. Her eyes are a little downturned and she’s holding her hands behind her back and there’s this uncertain smile that’s curling along her lips and he doesn’t know why any of this is important, just that it’s in his direct line of vision and he wants to put words to it. (Maybe this is the inner model persona speaking to him.) Adrien gestures to the rest of the street in a flourish before offering his hand, which Marinette gladly takes.

“Is there anything you like in particular?” he asks.

“Not really,” she answers. “Why do you ask?”

“I was thinking I could buy you something.” When she widens her eyes at him in surprise, he adds, “If that’s alright, of course. I just thought it might fit the image.”

“Oh. _Oh,_ of course.” She shakes her head, laughs. “I’m not very good at this, am I?”

“That’s not true,” Adrien counters. He looks up to find the leaves of a honey locust tree falling down to whisper along the angles of his face. Their elegant fall dance enraptures him for some reason, and he catches a few with his fingers, turns around and splays them out against Marinette’s palm. She jumps at first, but settles down when he takes her hands and tries to hold her steady. A sly smile inches its way up her lips.

“You know, you’re acting _awfully_ romantic for a fake boyfriend.”

He grins, leans a little closer. “I thought that was the whole point.”

“Mm, true, but…”

“But what?”

Her gaze flickers up to his, hesitant. “But you’re about to kiss me, aren’t you?” Adrien can tell that it’s difficult for her to say those words; the wild pulse of her wrist is a testament to it. And it’s not that she’s not good at this whole fake dating thing; after all, she did manage to survive every other morning of this past week in school. Marinette is just, if anything, a little nervous and in need of steadying by a certain someone—by him.

“First date, first kiss,” he muses, “it makes for a good combination.”

Marinette rolls her eyes. “Who knew you were so clever?” she teases in return, making clear reference to their “real” first kiss, in the hallway back on Monday. The banter is almost reminiscent of what highlights his rare midnight get-togethers with her: the ones where’s she’s more taunting than teasing and there’s a mask to cover half of his face. In fact, if he weren’t so caught up in the moment, he could half say that this is _exactly_ what their star-studded, balcony conversations are like. The thought pricks at his throat, makes him question it all over again, but then Marinette’s eyes are on him, waiting in anticipation.

Adrien swallows and licks his lips. He can’t exactly back down now, but there’s a part of his conscience that is trying to pull him back, telling him that adding a kiss on a whim—rather than to convince key witnesses—is terribly selfish.  Does he really want to do that to Marinette? Does he really want to leave her with just the short end of the stick? (He tries to push away the thought that, in a way, she’s doing just the same with him.)

“My father, for one,” he jokes instead, and she laughs, before whispering with heavy breath, “So we’re really doing this?” Her eyes are half-lidded in a blend of bashfulness and tension.

Adrien gulps. “Uh-huh.”

“O-kay.”

He leans in further, brushes her nose and tilts his head like the couples in movies. Marinette parts her lips and moves in tandem, and the whole world feels as if it’s about to shake with the realization of this l—

“Well, well, well,” comes Alya Cesaire’s voice from the left, and the two instantly break apart. “If it isn’t our little ‘lovebirds’ trying to stir up some action.” Nino stands at her side, hand scratching awkwardly at his neck. Clearly, he isn’t as willing to intrude upon the intimate moment as is his ex-girlfriend. The brunette walks up to the blushing pair and grins cheekily before snapping a picture.

“For the memories,” she explains, when they both gawk at her in shock.

“Alya, don’t you _dare_ do what I think you’re about to do,” threatens Marinette.

“What,” taunts the brunette, “you don’t want for the world to have proof of your _love_ for each other?” Marinette groans and runs a hand down her face before looking back at Adrien apologetically. “Do you mind if I…?” she asks tentatively, pointing in Alya’s direction.

Adrien waves his hand. “Nah, go ahead,” he says, “I’ll take Nino.” He can tell that his best friend is relieved to hear those words by the breath of relief that instantly escapes him. Adrien wonders with amusement how Alya managed to drag Nino out here in the first place. The two are on good speaking terms, thankfully, but as for being alone with each other, the atmosphere is usually more punctuated by a wavering tension than it is by amity now that they’ve broken up. He inches closer to Nino once the girls have walked a ways off and whispers, “So, what’s up with you and Alya?”

“Nothing much,” Nino mumbles, cramming his hands into his pockets. Though he’s not as tensed up as a few seconds before, his gaze keeps darting to Alya’s retreating silhouette on the sidewalk.

Adrien is used to thinking of love as a grand gesture; it feels like it should take something momentous to break two people apart. Some shocking secret, some strange twist of fate. But the way Alya and Nino had ended midway through last year had been more of a whimper, a soft but firm _“I’m just a little too busy with everything, you know?”_ Nino had been forlorn for a while, but he’d bounced back pretty quickly. Watching his best friend now, though, Adrien realizes that it wasn’t such a clean cut. Some feelings only bend, not break.

“Well, you still like her,” Adrien tests, “and that’s something, right?”

Nino blinks, caught off-guard, before answering, “I guess.” He kicks an empty can across the walk, only adding to the dejected picture. Adrien rolls his eyes and decides to steer the conversation in another direction, one that will immensely please a certain four-by-four creature of particular tastes. Marinette and Alya are nowhere to be seen by this time, but maybe that’s for the best. All in all, it’s a good day for Adrien.  A _great_ day. He got to spend some time with the ideal parents and mess around with his “girlfriend”, and now he’s turning the tables and giving back for the good he got to receive. Adrien throws an arm around Nino’s shoulder and noogies the boy through his cap before pulling them back into the disarray of the market, heading back towards the cheese stands.

“Now tell me something, Nino—what’s your opinion on Camembert?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are still helpful, and we immensely appreciate the ones you left us last time! Feel free to leave some more! ;)


	3. in which there is a bee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey, there, guys! It's been a long time, but Katie and I are back, and with an interesting sort of chapter. If you continue reading, you'll notice that this chapter consists mostly of multimedia posts versus physical narration of events, and we'll have chapters like this punctuating the main story line every once in a while. But don't get me wrong! That doesn't mean that these 'filler' chapters aren't important. In fact, if I had to give an honest opinion, I'd say that the largest amount of Easter eggs are going to come out of these multimedia bombs. So pay close attention, readers, as you try to put the many pieces of the puzzle together! ;)

**Marinette:** omg Adrien can you believe how many likes Alya’s picture of us has

 **Adrien:** Haven’t looked at it recently, let me check.

 **Marinette:** hint

                 it’s A LOT

                 !!

                 [IMAGE]

 **Adrien:** Oh, wow.

 **Marinette:** WHY DIDN’T WE GET TO POST IT

                  it’s OUR relationship anyways

                  !!

 **Adrien:** We could just meet up and take another one...

 **Marinette:**...I like that idea

 

*.*.*.*.*

 

 **chat noir & marinette dupain-cheng;  
** (as observed by raffaela buchelli for the _gossip gazette_ )

  * chat unphased by marinette’s new relationship → the EYES
  * marinette a little cautious
  * will marinette assume the life of a two-timer?
    * (do i have to tell adrien if she does?)
  * paws on face, cheeks specifically
    * on a scale of one to five…?
    * bordering on a ~~3.5 4.0~~ 3.8
  * two centimeter (?) distance—sixteen minutes, eighteen seconds
  * marinette inexplicably calm, even confident
  * THREE C’S → cautious, calm, confident **(good title)**
  * of special note: red bulge in nightgown pocket, but what…?
  * …are they talking about???
    * better pair of binoculars and/or telescope needed
  * chat leaving, marinette retreating; unable to make out either’s eyes
  * _total time of visit:_ twenty-three minutes, forty-seven seconds



**image count:** 17

 **due date:** 8th september

 

*.*.*.*.*

 

⇆ _Sabrina retweeted_

 **Chloe Bourgeois** @thechloebourgeois • Sep 8

I can spot fakes from miles away. this goes for faux leather AND relationships.

 

*.*.*.*.*

 

 **Alya:** girl, again with Chat?

 **Marinette:** WHAT

 **Alya:** raff sent me her notes for her romance section for this week

         [IMAGE]

 **Marinette:** omg

                 WHY DOES THIS HAPPEN TO ME

                 please don’t publish it?

                 I know freedom of the press is a thing and all

                 but there’s no way Chloe will take me and Adrien seriously if she sees this

                 she’s already still suspicious

 **Alya:** girl I am WAY ahead of you I got your back

 **Marinette:** <3

                 YOU’RE THE BEST ALYA

 **Alya:** you owe me another cute couple pic though

 **Marinette:** done and done

 

*.*.*.*.*

 

“Raffaela, is it true that Adrien has taken on a girlfriend?”

“Oh, yes. Mind-blowing, isn’t it? I didn’t believe it myself at first.”

“Would you happen to have a name for us?”

“Marinette. Marinette Dupain-Cheng. I believe her parents own a bakery.”

“And what do you think Gabriel Agreste makes of all this?”

“I think he has more important things to tend to, but if you must know, I think he’s _infuriated._ ”

“Why would that be?”

“Possessiveness of his only son. It’s a very typical reaction, nothing to be concerned about.”

“So you think their relationship will progress smoothly?”

“Not at all.”

“Oh, um—”

“It will certainly be entertaining, though. Now, if you’ll excuse me— _Auturo!_ ”

“A— And that concludes our exclusive interview with none other than Raffaela Buchelli, Adrien Agreste’s closest confidante, herself! Please stay tuned for more updates on the hottest trends this season, a sneak peek of looks for next week’s show, and more behind the scenes exclusives of the fascinating lives of our favorite models!”

 

*.*.*.*.*

 

 **Adrien:** Was that really necessary?

 **Raffaela:** was what?

 **Adrien:** ‘I believe her parents own a bakery.’

             ‘I think he’s infuriated.’

             ‘It will certainly be entertaining.’

 **Raffaela:** would you rather have answered the questions yourself?

 **Adrien:** …

             I don’t think I should have told you.

 **Raffaela:** believe me, cicci, it would be worse for you now if you didn’t tell me.

 **Adrien:** Is that a threat…?!

 **Raffaela:** oh, dear, /no/.

               just a reminder that i make worse rumors with lies. ;)

 **Adrien:** Somehow, that doesn’t comfort me…

 **Raffaela:** oh, cheer up. you know i adore you. <333

 

*.*.*.*.*

 

 **Nino:** closest confidant?!?!?!

 **Adrien:** Her words, not mine.  

 **Nino:** …

          u owe me, big time

 

*.*.*.*.*

 

12 Sep | **FOXTAILED: FRIEND OR FOE OF OUR FAVORITE DUO?**

 

Better hold on tight, dear readers, because things are about to get a little _wild._ Yes, that’s right—Paris has yet another animal on the loose, and it isn’t our favorite spotted bug or sleek black cat.  Nope, we’ve got a white-tailed vigilante who has appeared to claim the streets for her own. No clashes have occurred between her and Ladybug and Chat Noir for the time being, which also raises the question: is the pair aware of her existence? (Ladybug and Chat Noir have not been available to comment, but never fear, readers, the Ladyblog is on it.) Is she a benevolent presence or is she just biding her time, waiting to outfox us all?  

What do you think, readers?  Is this the start of a beautiful triumvirate, or might that tail spell trouble?

Comment with your guesses below, and don’t forget to like, share, and subscribe!

 

xx

As always, Alya Cesaire

 

*.*.*.*.*

 

 **Chloe Bourgeois** @thechloebourgeois • Sep 13

Omg just found the CUTEST comb

[IMAGE]

 

⇆ _Sabrina retweeted_

 **Chloe Bourgeois** @thechloebourgeois • Sep 13

Model status?

[IMAGE]

 

 **Chloe Bourgeois** @thechloebourgeois • Sep 13

oh my god wait

 

 **Chloe Bourgeois** @thechloebourgeois • Sep 13

T h  ER EE IS S A BE E EE E #savemeeee

 

 **Chloe Bourgeois** @thechloebourgeois • Sep 13

Wtf this puts the ‘age’ in vintage I think it’s cursed ?? WHY ME

 

_Chloe Bourgeois recently searched:_

ghosts possessing items

how big is the world’s largest bee

can bees talk

giant talking bee

pest control

 

 **Chloe Bourgeois** @thechloebourgeois • Sep 13

@everyone thinking I’m making things up, Nino’s coming over to capture PROOF

 

 **Chloe Bourgeois** @thechloebourgeois • Sep 13

Keeping the comb though because I deserve the best

 

*.*.*.*.*

 

“Camera over _here_ , Max! Can’t you see where I’m pointing?”

“Um, sure, just—where did you say I was supposed to point, again?”

“At. The. _Bee._ ”

“Hey, hey. Easy now, Chloe. There’s a lot of things in this room that to the human eye would appear to look like a bee, y’feel? Your outfit, for instance.”

“Why, Nino, _you_ —”

“Aaaand, we are live from the Bourgeois Estate, Le Grand Paris, centered, as you all should know, in the heart of Paris. Here with me today are Max—my man, my _camera_ man—and Chloe Bourgeois, according to whom there is a supersized bee living in her own room. For those of you who have no idea what you’re watching, this is _NiNouvelles_ , with your very own Nino!”

“That’s all fine and dandy, but if you keep prancing on like this for the next few hours, there won’t be any bee to find!”

“Find? I thought you already knew where it was.”

“Same difference, _Maximilien_. Oh, wait, but you wouldn’t know that, would you, what with the glasses and all?”

“ _O_ -kay, then. Chloe, why don’t you start by telling us when you first saw the bee?”

“You follow my Twitter, Nino.”

“Miraculously—but let’s assume for the moment that I don’t.”

“...”

“I can always leave, if you don’t have the time. Marinette’s promoing some of her designs for the Board of Educa—”

“A few hours ago, I found a comb in my room. Buttercup yellow, bee-shaped crest—the works. Of course, I _assumed_ that it was a gift from my father. Only he would be able to tell how it accented my outfit perfectly.”

“But… Oh, and Max, pan to the comb.”

“But then the bee popped out, and I knew it had to be a gift from one of my fans! I mean, who else would be stupid enough to think that the colors of my outfit could translate into an appreciation for _bees_ , of all things? It’s all a product of dumb admiration, I’m sure of it.”

“Uh-huh… And can we ask what the bee looked like?”

“Well, what _else_ is a bee going to look like?”

“So, yellow body, black stripes, stingers, antenna. Everything we usually see, but bigger?”

“By about a hundred times! And the size of my fist, no, the size of my hands making a fist together!”

“Right…”

“Ugh, I don’t know why I even bothered with you, you’re obviously incapable of—look! Over there!”

“Over where?”

“By the curtain, Max! What on earth do you even have glasses for if you can’t see a mega-fist-sized bee?!”

“Chloe… My vision’s twenty-twenty and even _I_ can’t see what you’re talking about.”

“But it’s _right. There._ ”

“Um, I don’t mean to burst your bubble, but… This is a plushie.”

“Wha—No—It can’t—”

“Face it, Chloe, if it were really alive it would have stung the life out of Max by now.”

“I—don’t shake it around! Give me that!”

“Well, you saw it for yourselves, folks. Nothing but a false alarm. I’m sure Ms. Bourgeois will have a fine time recovering from the pseudo-spotlight trauma, huh, Max?”

“Haha, yeah.”  

“In other news, my friend Marinette will be hosting her first fashion show of the school year this Saturday, so you should totally check that out! All proceeds will go towards the Board of Education, which we hope to have fund our Spring Trip later this year!”

“Not if _I_ can help it! When my father hears about this—”

“As for the song of the day, I’m really feeling Justin Bieber’s ‘What Do You Mean?’ Amazing, I know. If you told me two years ago that I’d be saying this today, I wouldn’t have believed you for a second. But anyway, this wraps up another episode of _NiNouvelles_. Tune in next week for a treat that’s hopefully more promising than what we had to serve to you today!”

 

*.*.*.*.*

 

 **Alya:** “what do you mean” ? REALLY?

 **Marinette:** I was going to say...

 **Alya:** honestly if I didn’t know nino better I’d say he was hardcore pining

 **Marinette:**... 

                 well

                 ...

 **Alya:** girl you know your three dots thing drives me crazy

         what are you trying to say

 **Marinette:** I mean

                 I’m just wondering

                 do you ever, you know

                 miss him

                 ?

 **Alya:** we see him everyday

 **Marinette:** you know that’s not what I’m saying

 **Alya:** spit it out girl

 **Marinette:** do you regret breaking up with him

                 ?

 **Alya:** k bye

 **Marinette:** ALYA

                 !!

 

*.*.*.*.*

 

 **Chloe Bourgeois** @thechloebourgeois • Sep 15

you know if /someone/ had stayed over for longer

 

 **←** In reply to Chloe Bourgeois

 **Chloe Bourgeois** @thechloebourgeois • Sep 15

you all might have gotten to see the bee TALK

 

 **←** In reply to Chloe Bourgeois

 **Chloe Bourgeois** @thechloebourgeois • Sep 15

but nooo chloe is paranoid, chloe is going insaaane

 

 **←** In reply to Chloe Bourgeois

 **Chloe Bourgeois** @thechloebourgeois • Sep 15

SABRINA WHERE IS MY RETWEET !! @thebourgeoisbestie

 

*.*.*.*.*

 

 **Raffaela:** hey, Alya

 **Alya:** Raffy!!!

         heeeyyy

 **Raffaela:** i was wondering why my article didn’t make it into this month’s issue…?

 **Alya:** oh!

         I’m soooo sorry

         there was a lot to go through this week

         and I couldn’t fit it into my editing schedule

 **Raffaela:** oh, that’s alright

               no hard feelings

               next issue, perhaps?

 **Alya:** hopefully!

 **Raffaela:** ;)

 

*.*.*.*.*

 

 **Adrien Agreste** @amonami_inme • Sep 16

It just so happens that Justin Bieber is set to perform at my father’s next fashion show.

 

 **Adrien Agreste** @amonami_inme • Sep 16

Does anyone want tickets? [WINK EMOJI] @ninorino

 

 **←** In reply to Adrien Agreste

 **Nino the DJ** @ninorino • Sep 16

excuse me 4 having good taste in music

 

 **←** In reply to Nino the DJ

 **Adrien Agreste** @amonami_inme • Sep 16

Uh huh. @LocalLadyblog Would you like to comment?

 

 **←** In reply to Adrien Agreste

 **Nino the DJ** @ninorino • Sep 16

DUDE?!??!?!

 

 **←** In reply to Adrien Agreste

 **Marinette Dupain-Cheng** @dupain_au_chocolat • Sep 16

oooohhh, my bf is stirrin’ up some DRAMA [CLAP EMOJI]

 

 **←** In reply to Marinette Dupain-Cheng

 **Alya Cesaire** @LocalLadyblog • Sep 16

[EYEROLL EMOJI] don’t encourage him, girl!!

 

*.*.*.*.*

 

17 Sep—23 Sep | **_UNDER (THE WHIM OF) THE STARS:_ ** **WEEKLY HOROSCOPE**

 

 **Aries:** Taking charge isn’t always meant to be your first course of action, and this will only become more apparent to you as the days go by. Ease up on tackling every last thing and allow yourself to let one or two go. The world can stand to wait a few minutes for you to rest.

 **Taurus:** This year hasn’t exactly been kind to you thus far, but it hasn’t completely derailed you either. Given a few weeks’ patience and some cups of hot, lemon honey tea, your day-to-day life should smooth out, perhaps even miraculously enlighten you as to your true purpose.

 **Gemini:** Cartwheels and jumping jacks! Your love life is destined for a series of spontaneous twists and turns. Whether these detours are for better or for worse lies purely in the fruit of your actions. Remember not to be too aggressive, but don’t try to hide behind hesitation either.

 **Cancer:** Exams may be over a year away, but that’s no reason not to kick it into gear and and be on top of things. Even though there’s an endless amount of work to tackle in the days, weeks, years before you, your innate drive should help ease you along the way.

 **Leo:** People have always filtered in and out of your life, and the school year to come shouldn’t be any different—unless you choose to look back on certain past experiences. Pay close attention to your friends and family. There’s definitely someone out there whom you haven’t been appreciating enough.

 **Virgo:** Open your eyes wide and be sure to watch your step—disaster is waiting just around the corner if you don’t catch it first! But not to worry, dear friend. The most disaster this lovely lady foresees is a bad hair day, or a few misplaced stumbles, if you’re careful.

 **Libra:** Things have been quiet for you for a while now, but sometimes your own company is the best company. Take this opportunity to rediscover yourself by picking up a new book or traveling to an unfamiliar place; in a few weeks, you’ll find things picking up again as a new person enters your life!

 **Scorpio:** Truth is your middle name, and your persistence in seeking it out will certainly pay off.  However, you will soon find yourself faced with a hard choice. When that time comes, remember that patience is its own payoff, and a little postponement will have you building connections in the long haul!

 **Sagittarius:** You’ve got one eye on the future and the other on the past.  Keep your mind off things by focusing on current projects and looking after daily tasks; those close to you certainly appreciate your efforts, even if they don’t articulate it, and who knows? They might reciprocate soon.   

 **Capricorn:** When it comes to practicality and independence, you’re the first in line. However, this week will test your flexibility. Don’t be afraid to reach out to others for help; you’ll be surprised at who answers your call.

 **Aquarius:** This week will bring an astonishing revelation, but your inner determination won’t let it faze you for long. Dig deep and keep your wits about you; your adaptive nature will see you through to your goals, but be careful that you don’t lose track of yourself along the way.

 **Pisces:** This week, you’ll find yourself more productive than ever, with recognition of your artistic talent reaching new heights.  Be gone, creative block—now is the perfect time to brush the cobwebs off that project that was giving you a hard time and tackle it from a new, inspired angle!

 

❃ If the predictions mentioned above don’t meet the reality of your following week, please contact Juleka as you may require a more introspective palm reading! Love, Rose. ❃

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Katie and I have an enormous amount of fun reading through all of your comments and theories, so please, keep doing what you're doing! 
> 
> Also: In French, the word 'nouvelles" means 'news'. Thus, the name of Nino's weekly vlog is in fact a pun. Adrien is secretly very proud and may even have helped in the naming process.


	4. double the trouble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been a long month and a half, and we apologize for the wait. Graduation had Katie and I immensely busy. Now that summer's here, though, hopefully things will take on a quicker pace. They certainly seem to be by the end of this chapter, which also happens to be our longest, at almost six thousand words! We hope you enjoy!

Admittedly, Marinette’s life since first meeting Adrien has been punctuated by late nights spent dreaming and thinking and hoping and _dreaming_. Sometimes she has felt an umbrella rest in the curve of her hand or his fingers slip across her wrist; others, the weight of his words on the tender shelf of her heart. Any hours that she’s managed to remain awake past midnight can, without exception, stake their claim in one beautiful blond boy of fifteen, and yet—

—now that she’s managed to close the space between them, Marinette has no idea what to do with herself. The hours of twilight aren’t so much marked by dreams now as they are by _memory_. Memory of Adrien holding her hand as they walk down the school hallways; memory of Adrien giggle-whispering into her ear because he loves immensely to laugh. Tired sighs no longer entail sleep, only triggers to every imaginable motion of that day replaying right before the lids of her eyes.

A small sound of frustration escapes Marinette’s lips, and she turns over in her sheets to get a good look at her clock. Midnight has already had the pleasure of settling in, but the moon makes no move to put a damper on its pearly glow. Unsure of how else to keep the memories of today from running endlessly through her mind, Marinette buries half of her face into her pillow and stares dismally out into the night. The pucker of his lips to her cheek is still mercilessly fresh, and she touches her fingers every now and then to the spot.

“Awake, are we, princess?” croons a more-than-familiar voice, its keeper flitting briefly in front of the glass of the balcony door. Marinette immediately closes her eyes in response, hopeful that her visitor might leave should he hear nothing more than the wind at his ear.

“Your heart is beating a mile a minute,” Chat prods. “There’s no use in hiding it, I can already tell.”

Annoyed, but not left with many other options—sleep at this point is out of the question—Marinette throws back her covers and shuffles lazily into her slippers. Her hair hangs haphazardly about her cheekbones, but she doesn’t bother pulling it back. If the dastardly Chat Noir really expects her to look like a princess worth wooing at this time of night, then he has another thing coming. Marinette has no time to be worried about appearances when it comes to this boy.

The leather-clad moonlighter perks his ears as soon as she opens the doors. His eyes are like gas lamps glimmering in the night, their lemon-lime green practically taking on the light surrounding him. Marinette stares at him for a moment, lips parted in a question that she can’t quite put the words to.

“ _Why,_ ” she groans eventually, rubbing her eyes, “are you here?”

Chat braces his elbows on his knees as he leans forward, grinning. “I think the better question is why _you’re_ here.”

Marinette shoots him a flat look. “That doesn’t even make sense. You’re the one on my balcony. You’re the one who woke me up!”

“That’s an awful lot of animosity to be directed at one of Paris’s protectors.”

“So you saved my life a few times,” grumbles Marinette. “And now, what, you’re suddenly my all-time guardian angel?”

“Something like that,” says Chat, but there’s a hesitance behind the bravado, a shutter over the bright green eyes. Marinette thinks, briefly, of Manon—the little girl always pesters her more when she’s trying to hide something. Chat, it seems, is no different.

“Where’s Ladybug?” she asks, attempting to coax him out of whatever weird funk he’s in.

“Don’t know,” he replies, turning his head to look out over the skyline. For a second, his profile seems almost regal. In fact, the golden, moon-dusted locks nestled atop his head could almost be mistaken for a crown in this limited light, though Marinette would never tell him so. “Wouldn’t want to bother her, anyways,” Chat continues. “She probably needs her beauty sleep.”

“And I don’t?”

The cat doesn’t even deign to give her an answer, simply winking instead. The look in his eyes at this hour is what one could call ‘far off.’ He smiles at her easily and the dimples nestled at either end of his lips are pointed and cute (she wouldn't tell him this, either), but no means for revelation. Marinette looks at Chat and sees the Cheshire Cat of Wonderland staring back, his grin bright in the dark, the rest of his thoughts invisible. Curious, she starts to wonder if maybe she's been too harsh in batting away his advances on Ladybug, and if she can coax such a fact out of him.

But it’s late—half past midnight—and Marinette is too tired for games.

“Why are you really here, Chat?” she asks again, fighting back the urge to question him any further.

“Couldn’t sleep.” He shrugs, voice soft.

And it’s as simple as that. _The Gossip Gazette_ can say what it wants, but Chat’s clandestine visits to her balcony have few romantic undertones, if the very first one is anything to go by.  Marinette remembers it clearly: a loud clatter on the rooftop, one broken flowerpot, one guilty superhero clad in black. He’d been vaulting from one house to the next with his staff on some insomniac jaunt through the city, and as luck would have it, he’d lost his balance while arcing over hers.

Marinette feels a slight pang of sympathy for the cat. In all honesty, his situation is no better than hers. It’s just that Chat Noir is unafraid to throw himself wholeheartedly into his pursuit of Ladybug, regardless of the outcome, while Marinette can’t even form a relationship with Adrien without it being backed by a lie. Maybe their weird, moonlit friendship makes sense, in a way. Something about Chat Noir’s easygoing gait never fails to comfort her. A slight smile surfaces on her face as she remembers that the vigilante is the reason she's dating Adrien in the first place.

“I have a boyfriend,” Marinette discloses, a strange thrill of excitement running over her as she announces it to someone who wasn't around to see the play-by-play of that one, fateful morning.

“Really, now.” Surprisingly, Chat’s grin widens.

She circles around to his perch at the end of the balcony, each footstep further inciting her to wakefulness. The late-night Paris breeze toys playfully with her hair, throws it across her face and splits Chat’s into fragments. Marinette easily picks out his eyes, alight with the eagerness of listening to her story.

“Mmhmm,” she answers, smirking. “And you'll never guess who.”

“Oh, I have an idea.”

“ _What?_ ” Marinette exclaims, starting to smile. “Who?”

“Le Messieur Agreste,” says Chat Noir with a flourish, waggling his eyebrows and dropping his voice to a low, seductive pitch. Marinette snorts and pushes his face away, but not before he manages to catch her bashful smile.

“You like him?” Chat asks.

“Of course! He’s really kind and thoughtful, and—”  Her eyes fly open wider. “And he wants your autograph!”

Chat’s chest puffs out slightly, shoulders thrown back. “At least one of you two appreciates me,” he says, watching as she disappears back down into her room to grab a pen and a piece of paper.

“Chat.” Marinette’s voice is sharp when she reemerges, stationary in hand. “ _I_ appreciate you, too.”

Chat blinks, surprised by the sudden shift in tone. Not for the first time, Marinette feels guilty for not expressing her gratitude more frequently as Ladybug. What kind of partner is she, leaving her companion to wander the nights alone, aimless and aching for affirmation?  She tries to make up for it now, eyes boring into Chat’s as she hands over the paper, determined to show her sincerity.

Chat Noir breaks eye contact first, ducking his head slightly as he accepts her offering. “Thanks, princess,” he says, voice slightly rough at the edges as he begins to scrawl his signature across the sheet. “Whom am I making this out to, again?” he asks, feigning innocence.

Marinette rolls her eyes, though the syllables roll sweetly off her tongue. “Adrien Agreste.”

“Ah, that’s right.”

“How did you guess, anyways? That it was him?”

“The boy is Paris’s third favorite face—after Ladybug and myself, of course,” Chat says, head bent over his work, tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth. Marinette resists the sudden urge to touch one of his cat ears. “And I saw that interview with that Italian model, Raffaela.” This last bit is confided nonchalantly.

A grin overtakes Marinette’s face, bubbling out as a giggle.  

Chat’s head snaps up. “What?”  

“I didn’t think of you as the type to follow fashion news, Chat,” she teases, even as another part of her bookmarks that information, adding it to the fascinating mosaic that is her masked partner.

Chat takes it in stride. “I have a _very_ keen sense of fashion,” he confides. “That way I know how best to accentuate my dashing good looks.”

When he hands her pen back to her, the lazy, knowing grin is firmly back in place. There’s a sparkle in Chat’s eyes, half curiosity, half mischief.

“So,” he starts, nodding to the paper now clenched in her hand. “Tell me more about you and Adrien Agreste.”

 

*.*.*.*.*

 

Marinette knows full well when she wakes up that any drowsiness she feels can be attributed to herself alone. Although Chat Noir chose to grace her presence the past night, the fault of giving him company lies with her, that of staying up with him for two hours past midnight even more so.

As Sabine pushes back the door to the attic and enters her daughter’s alcove, Marinette offers a greeting in the form of a drowsy groan. Her covers are pulled completely over her head, but the sunlight gleaming past her windows is simply too overwhelming. She shuts her eyes tight and makes a small, whimpering sound.

“Cramps, honey?” asks her mother, and Marinette almost replies, “ _If only._ ”

Nestled into the crook of her arm is a softly snickering Tikki, who possessed sense enough to skip out on her Kwami counterpart’s surprise visit. Sensing Sabine’s approaching footsteps, the strawberry-colored Kwami moves further out of view and eventually onto the balcony when the _boulanger_ isn't looking. Her mornings are usually spent smelling the orchids that wrap around the wrought-iron fence while Marinette scrambles to get ready for school. Today, however, marks a different occasion.

“There's someone waiting for you downstairs,” sing-songs Sabine, carefully peeling the covers away from her daughter’s curled up body. Marinette, still in denial of the sun’s rays, deigns only to open a single eye in question.

“Who?” she enquires, sounding suspicious.

Tikki watches as Sabine considers the question. Clearly, she's trying to determine if the answer will be enough to coax her daughter out of bed. The only visitor that Tikki can think of is Alya, and her name, the Kwami silently reasons, would be no trigger at all. Marinette knows the brunette would simply drag her out of bed herself lest she refuse to get up. And as for the rest of Marinette’s classmates, there isn't anyone of too much importance to her save. . .

“Adrien,” Sabine admits, and Marinette immediately jerks up.

“ _Adrien?_ ” she whispers. Tikki nearly laughs.

“Yes, _Adrien._ ”

Marinette makes an incoherent noise, then jumps out from under her covers before making a run for the bathroom. As she narrates a short list of things for her mother to do, such as _offer him something to drink but please don’t be too excited about it_ , Tikki chuckles and shakes her head. No number of intimate moments with Adrien will ever be able to quell the way Marinette’s heart hammers in her chest when she hears his name. It’s as if he’s a trigger to every last nerve in her body, the rapture of his aura not once fading since their shared moment under an umbrella over a year ago.

“Do I look alright?” Marinette asks, stepping out into her room. She has on a black t-shirt under some pink overalls and struggles with the sleeves of a white cardigan, debating how best to tie it around her waist without looking frumpy. Sabine has long since gone downstairs, but Tikki flies out from her hiding place and over to Marinette’s side. “You look just fine,” she says, offering an encouraging wink for extra measure. No second call has come for Marinette to hasten downstairs, but the Kwami expects it’ll be soon and decides to help gather up her partner’s things.

“Do you have your report on _Le Comte de Monte-Cristo_?” she asks.

“Yeah,” mumbles Marinette. The stapled jumble of papers gets stuffed into her backpack, along with her cell phone and clutch. Desperate to get ready before Adrien grows impatient and decides to join her up here himself, she runs about her room in a panic.

In the process, her foot collides with one of the wheels of her rolling chair, sending it skidding across the floor as she yelps.

“Marinette, honey, are you okay?” Sabine calls, and then, in a quieter murmur, “Maybe someone should go up and check on her. . .”

“I’ve got it,” Marinette hears Adrien offer, the first floorboard of the staircase creaking as he begins his ascent.

 _“No!”_ she shouts, managing to snatch up her things as she half-hops, half-limps to the trap door in her floor, Tikki zooming into her purse while warning, “Slow down, Marinette, be careful—”

The Kwami’s words are swallowed up by the sound of her owner tripping down the stairs, tumbling straight into her boyfriend’s arms.

“Easy, there,” laughs Adrien, hands warm around Marinette’s forearms. Though reluctant to peel her cheek away from the soft cotton covering his chest, Marinette jerks back quickly with a sheepish grin.

She glances over his shoulder, making sure her mother isn’t in the vicinity, and lowers her voice just to be sure. “I didn’t think— you didn’t have to come all the way _here_ to meet me, that’s not part of our contract.”

“I know,” says Adrien, letting go; Marinette tries not to mourn the loss too much. “But I figured now was as good a time as any to cash in on one of my discounts. Except, get this.” He raises the flap of his messenger bag and pulls out a paper bag printed with the signature _Dupain-Cheng_ logo. “Your mom gave me some pain au chocolat for _free._ ”

The look on his face is one of pure, unadulterated joy. It takes all of Marinette’s self control to tug him down the stairs, kiss her parents goodbye, and start walking to school like a normal person, ignoring the miniature Marinette in the back of her brain that wants nothing more than to throw her arms around Adrien and maybe make out with his face. (Just a little.)

Instead, she distracts herself by teasing him, “You’re so easily bought.”

“See, I would deny it, but my mouth is currently occupied with an absolutely _heavenly_ croissant.”

“You’re making a mess,” Marinette says helplessly, reaching over to brush some buttery flakes from the corner of his mouth, before her mental brakes slam: _whatareyoudoingohmyGOD ACT COOL ACT COOL_

They’ve come to a stop on the other side of the crosswalk, and Marinette’s stomach is bottoming out from the awkwardness of cleaning off her crush’s face in what, upon reflection, now seems like a totally lame, totally _mom_ move. (Another part of her may be considering not washing this hand for the rest of the day, but that’s. . . irrelevant.) And just when Marinette thinks her heart can’t take anymore, Adrien smirks—actually _smirks!_ —at her. “Thanks.”

The effect is jarring. She’s no stranger to Adrien’s attractiveness; she squeals over his modeling shots around five times a day. But the Adrien in his magazine spreads is always dreamy or contemplative or secretive, never _sly._ _Sly_ is like Cha—  

“You’re welcome,” blurts Marinette, mouth dry, mildly disturbed by where her train of thought is leading her. Something else quickly pops into her mind. “Oh! I have something for you, too.”  

With her free hand, she pulls the folded sheet of paper from her back pocket, handing it to Adrien.

“What’s this?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Chat Noir’s autograph,” Marinette declares proudly, watching the way the corner of Adrien’s mouth lifts as he studies the showy signature. He tucks the autograph away in the inner pocket of his white overshirt before looping his arm through hers and starting to walk again.

Marinette gapes. The assertiveness of the gesture throws her off. She’s never thought about it before, but she realizes that she’s used to taking charge: the initiation of the kiss turned fake-relationship, her strategic plans of attack with Chat. Having Adrien set the pace, shoulders buoyed by some newfound confidence akin to satisfaction, is strange, though not unwelcome, and she speeds up her stride, arm threaded through his.

Their walk continues in comfortable silence until Marinette nudges, “Well? You aren’t going to ask me how I got it?”

“Honestly, Marinette, I feel like you have connections to half the famous people in this city.  Ladybug, Jagged Stone, me. . .” jokes Adrien. “But fine, I’ll bite. How’d you get Chat?”

“Well,” Marinette begins, smiling a little haughtily, “I don't know if you remember, but Chat Noir happened to be the reason for this. . .” She throws her hand out in a nondescript circle, and Adrien laughs as she concludes, “ _Thing._ ”

“Funny, I thought I meant more to you that.”

“Believe me, Adrien, if you didn't, then _this_ ”—she taps his chest where the autograph is tucked away—“wouldn't be in your hands today.”

“Okay, okay,” he laughs, “go on.”

“Well. . .” A concentrated frown briefly flitters across Marinette’s face. “I don’t know how, but for some reason, he had no idea that the two of us had started ‘dating’. He landed on my balcony last night as if everything was still the same.”

Adrien’s features reflect hers momentarily, and a guilty lump builds up in Marinette’s throat. The subject matter of her relationship with Chat Noir, in her opinion, is still too awkward to properly discuss with Adrien, especially given how much of his own life and time he’s chosen to give up for her. When his face finally smooths out and he nods for her to continue, Marinette can’t help but breathe a small sigh of relief. Maybe they’ll be ready to tackle that topic another day.

“So you think he still likes you?” Adrien prompts, unfortunately throwing her off-kilter anyway.

Marinette’s heated blush couples with the rapid blinking of her eyes. “Oh! No, I— I don’t know about that. I just think he enjoys having someone to talk to.”

“I can definitely relate.”

And there it is again—that awkward silence that Marinette has no idea how to approach. Though she’s always known that Adrien Agreste was a little lonely, what with school and modeling and extracurriculars, it’s never occurred to her that he might take that loneliness to heart. She wonders if he’s hurt by the thought that she’s dating him only out of convenience. She wonders if he knows that her reasons hold something more.

“He seemed pretty happy to know that I got a boyfriend,” she finally manages to say. “And it helped when he found out it was you.”

Adrien quirks an eyebrow. “So you’re saying that I’m acceptable in the eyes of a Parisian hero?”

“ _Acceptable?_ ” Marinette exclaims in disbelief. This boy has just _got_ to start giving himself more credit. “I’m pretty sure he thinks you’re absolutely _exceptional_ , Mister I’m Good At Everything But Still Manage Not To Be A Jerkwad.”

She’s incredibly tempted to rise up on her toes and slobber his cheek with a kiss, but unfortunately (or not?), Adrien beats her to it. As his lips slant and part against her hairline, the only thing that keeps Marinette from melting into a puddle at his feet is the soft pressure of his thumb on the back of her hand. Her eyelids flutter shut, and she sinks into the moment, her heart treating the action as if it’s entirely real.

“ _Mon cher_ , don’t you know that this is what _behind_ school is for?”

Marinette opens her eyes, only to be faced with a clearly irritated Chloe Bourgeois. The blonde stands alone at the foot of the stairs leading up to their lycée, and it doesn’t take long to put two and two together. The radiant, teasing smile on Adrien’s face is even more of a testament to the truth of it: that this endearing kiss she’d nearly melted into was nothing but a cleverly timed spectacle.

He replies, evidently enjoying himself, “I know, but I think it’s more fun doing it out in the open, don’t you?”

The genuine honesty in the statement surprises her. Marinette is reminded of how no matter the person, Adrien simply cannot bring himself to be cruel. “Only if it’s something worth watching,” Chloe retorts, and he laughs goodnaturedly, as if to further prove the fact. Before the conversation can go on any further, Marinette grabs his hand and motors them up the stairs and past the doors.

She’s still a little flustered that her moment wasn’t actually a ‘moment’, Adrien’s genuineness of character aside. And although the giddy look on his face is pretty cute, it’s not cute enough to regain her hearts-in-the-air fantasy. “So I’ll see you during Econ?” Marinette asks, unnecessarily rushing the words.

“Yeah,” Adrien replies, distracted, “I guess so.”

“Okay.”

She lets go of his hand, gives one last thought to the kiss before turning away. 

 

*.*.*.*.*

 

“I’m not upset,” Marinette says for the seventeenth time that day, and Alya can’t help but scoff.

“Your forehead is doing that little pinchy thing,” the brunette counters, “you know, the one where it’s so scrunched up I can barely see your eyes?” She reaches over and takes the liberty of trying to smooth out the creases in Marinette’s face, but not before her best friend irritably swaps her hand away.

“I’m fine!” Marinette whisper-shouts. “Really.” They’re headed to the cafeteria to get lunch, and if Adrien is going to be there (which he obviously will), she has to get this ridiculous look off of her face. She’d managed to keep it together for Economics, but only because the majority of her interaction with Adrien in class was the exchange of an exasperated look when Chloe tried to act like she did the reading (in confession, Marinette may have only skimmed, but at least she didn’t even try to pretend she had all the answers).

An extended Adrien Session, which Marinette has started dubbing these in her head, requires a whole other level of calm and composure. Alya constantly bringing up _earlier annoyances_ is not one way to do so.

“Oh,” interjects a voice, and Marinette nearly jumps into the air at its next statement: “Are you stressed out about that, too?”

“What?” she nearly yells. “What am I stressed out about? I don’t understand— I, I—”

“The history project.”

Alya claps a hand to her face and shakes her head, watching as a wildly panting Marinette turns to properly face Nathanael, who appears to be oblivious to her ramblings. The redhead’s tablet is in his hand, as always, and he stares at her unabashed, waiting for a response.

“Oh,” Marinette murmurs. “Um, yeah. Yeah. I haven’t even started. It’s due tomorrow, right?” This last question is directed at Alya, who resignedly nods her head.

Nathanael shifts on his toes a little before clearing his throat. “Do you maybe. . . want to work on it together?” He looks up hopefully at Marinette, a hint of his crush on her still laden in the rise of his cheeks.

Marinette mentally runs through her schedule for the evening: do the history project, finish her competition entry for a redesign of the storefront of the boutique down the street, make a brief appearance as Ladybug on the evening broadcast of some kids’ show. . .

“I’m sorry,” she says, genuinely pained about having to turn him down, “but I just. . . have a lot on my plate.”

Behind her, she can see Alya shifting in surprise; her friend may know about the history project and the boutique, but she doesn’t know about Marinette’s _other_ obligation. Nathanael must pick up on Alya’s reaction as well, because his smile is awkward as he says, “Oh, yeah, no worries.”

And because she feels, now, that she has to justify herself to _two_ people, because she doesn’t want Alya _and_ Nathanael to think that she’s made up some halfhearted excuse just to avoid him, when Adrien finally joins them with a warm, “Hey, Nath; hey, Alya!” Marinette quickly seizes his arm and explains, “See, Adrien and I also have a date tonight, so between finishing up the project and getting ready for that. . .”

If Adrien recognizes her death grip on his arm, he doesn’t comment. The only nod to their facade is the single eyebrow he raises at her, a silent _what have you gotten into this time?_ before he reiterates, the picture of a proud boyfriend, “Yeah, Marinette and I have a date.”

Marinette exhales in relief, even as a part of her thinks, mournfully, _I really have to stop putting him on the spot like this._

“You guys are going on another date and you didn’t _tell_ me?” asks Alya, her betrayal directed more towards Marinette than Adrien. Marinette meets her best friend’s eyes guiltily, about to mouth, _I’ll explain later,_ but Adrien beats her to the punch. Again.

“Only because you and Nino so rudely crashed our other one,” he teases.

“Good thing, too, because you were about to do something embarrassingly corny.”

“Come on, Marinette likes it. Don’t you, Mari?” asks Adrien, drawing her closer to his side and looking innocently at Alya.

“Uh. . .” Marinette manages, eyes darting between Alya and Adrien, who are staring each other down from across her, twin expressions of mirth on their faces. They are having way too much fun with this.

“I get it,” Nathanael speaks up again, and the genuine warmth in his voice makes Marinette look at him fondly. “That’s. . . really great, about you two. Congratulations.” He smiles, this time directly at Marinette, and for a beat her heart thumps fast ( _can he sense_ — _? Does he know?)._ His mop of red hair bends as he turns and walks away, scribbling something on his tablet. Marinette mumbles a soft goodbye.

“Well,” Alya declares, eyeing her with a pointed look, “someone’s got to keep Nino company, so I’ll meet you guys over in the courtyard.”

“Will do,” Adrien agrees easily.

“Don’t take too long!” Alya calls over her shoulder. Marinette glares and makes a slicing motion with her free hand, before walking in the other direction with her ‘boyfriend’.

Once it’s just the two of them, Adrien slides his arm out of her grip, draping it across her shoulders instead as he guides them somewhere less conspicuous.

“So, do we really have a date tonight?” he asks lightly, gaze pointed straight ahead as they walk.

“Um, no, sorry about that,” Marinette says, resisting the urge to squirm. “Not that I wouldn’t like it if— if we did, it’s just I’ve got other engagements—”

“That’s a relief, actually,” Adrien confesses, “because I was trying to figure out a nice way to tell you that I’m also super busy tonight so it might not be the best time—”

“Oh, no, I totally understand! Is it another photo shoot?”

“Among other things,” he answers, tilting his head as he looks down at her out of the corner of his eye.

They’re in an empty hallway now, removed from any curious gazes they might have had to face in the school cafeteria. Adrien drops his arm and steps away from her to lean against one of the columns, his golden hair bright against the white stone. He’s not looking at her anymore; rather, he stares at some invisible fixed point down the hallway, his arms crossed. He’d make a perfect statue like this, Marinette thinks, if any sculptor could capture the soft line of his left cheek, his jaw.

“Can I ask you something?” Adrien questions, eyes sliding towards her and then back away.

“Of course.”

“Why me? Why not Nino or Nathanael or something?”

Marinette grapples with Adrien’s question, because it's so far from what she expected. This is different from his teasing but prodding comparisons with Chat Noir. He’s not asking this time out of some misplaced sense of inadequacy; there’s genuine puzzlement in his tone, as if he’s just now realized that Marinette could have easily picked someone else to go along with her plans. _Because that’s who Adrien is_ , Marinette thinks with a smile. It doesn't occur to him that maybe for her there couldn't have been anyone else.

But she can't tell him that.

“Because it wouldn’t be fair to them,” she answers eventually. “Nino, because of Alya, and Nathanael, because he’s had feelings for me before and I— I don’t know if they’re gone, to be honest. But you. . . you’ve never thought of me that way, so I knew,” she swallows, staring down at her feet and mustering the courage to go on, “I knew it’d be a safe bet.”

Adrien is quiet for a long time, and Marinette’s heart squeezes. It isn’t like she’s expecting him to vehemently deny her statement, to blurt, _“You’re wrong and I’ve liked you all this time and I agreed so I could win your heart,”_ but it still hurts that he takes so long to answer.

“Marinette,” he starts, stops. Tries again. “Marinette, I— I think you’re great. You’re smart and funny and talented and— and you’re one of my closest friends, which is why I want to tell you something I haven’t told anyone else.”

He straightens and moves away from the column to stand before her. As Adrien takes both of her hands in his and looks her dead in the eye, Marinette’s heart leaps into her throat.

“I’m in love with Ladybug.”

“L— Ladybug?” Marinette stutters, momentarily stunned.

“I know what it’s going to sound like,” Adrien says urgently, squeezing her fingers. “Like hero worship, or whatever, but it’s not. I can’t— I can’t explain all of it to you right now, but I know— I _know_ there’s more to her than what we see on the television. I was there when—” he breaks off, clearing his throat. “I mean, I’ve just. . . I’ve been following her for a long time. And I want to figure out who she really is behind the mask.”

_I’m in love with Ladybug._

_Behind the mask._

_The mask_ —

“Adrien—”

“Sorry,” he says, releasing her hands suddenly, as if burned. “I didn’t mean— it’s unfair of me to spring it on you like that. But I thought you should know as soon as possible, because of our. . .” he trails off. “Arrangement.”

“Arrangement,” Marinette echoes, and the word is cold again, clinical.

“So that’s me, in a nutshell,” Adrien shrugs, shoving his hands into his pockets, trying to lighten the atmosphere. “Just your average teenage boy with a big, dumb, unrequited crush.” He smiles a little ruefully. “Guess I’m not good at _every_ thing.”

There’s a lump in Marinette’s throat, and she doesn’t even know what it’s from anymore: the fact that Adrien’s faith in Ladybug might as well be written in stone? The fact that this boy could think that anyone could know him and _not_ care for him in return? The fact that this, in entirety, is turning out to be far messier than she’d even imagined?

“But enough about me,” Adrien is saying. “The point is, I just wanted you to know that it’s okay if you have someone else. When this is all over, I promise I’ll support you.”

Marinette almost laughs. _Oh, Adrien,_ she laments numbly. _How can you be so blind?_

“Should we add that to our contract?” she jests, in an attempt to remove herself from it all. Adrien makes a move as if to draw something out of his pocket, then fakes an air pencil and paper with his hands. He seals the deal with a kiss to his fingertips. “There, it’s set in stone.”

“I’m glad we can say we’re on the same page.” Marinette laughs, finally, unable to wallow in a mood for too long what with Adrien at her side. Her model ‘boyfriend’ really is like the sun, taking on the warmth of others before emitting it back to them. She can’t even say that she’s annoyed about this morning anymore; his hand on her waist as they walk back to the courtyard is too much of a comfort.

“Thank you, by the way, for trusting me with this.”

“No,” Adrien answers, “thank _you_. It’s nice to finally get that off of my shoulders.”

Ah, the irony. “I imagine,” murmurs Marinette. As the courtyard comes into view, she spots Alya rambling to a helpless Nino, who, despite having to duck out of the way of Alya’s wild gesturing, seems to be enjoying hearing her voice. Apparently Adrien has been walking his best friend through how to woo the eccentric blogger all over again. Marinette doesn’t doubt that his efforts will pull through; he seems to be doing a pretty good job with his _own_ ‘girlfriend’, after all.

“Oh, thank God,” Nino breathes when they finally make it over, “I thought she’d never stop.” He laughs when Alya punches him in the shoulder.

“Says the guy who posts videos of himself blabbing every week!”

Yeah, she thinks it’ll pan out alright.

 

*.*.*.*.*

 

Although Marinette is stressed out as it is when she finally makes it back home (the broadcast took a little longer than expected, and she still has some finishing touches to put on her history project), nothing can keep her from mentally replaying Adrien’s words: _It’s nice to finally get that off of my shoulders._

It feels wrong not to tell him the truth, because here he is, laying his whole heart bare to her, and she can’t even muster the courage to tell Adrien that she’s had a crush on him for two years. She feels like a fraud.

“You could just tell him who you are. . .” suggests Tikki, easily sensing her partner’s apprehension.

“I _can’t,_ though! ” Marinette takes a breath, heart beating fast. “It’s. . . I know you’re worried that it’s because I don’t believe I’m as good as when I’m Ladybug but that’s not it, I just— I have to win him over from this end, too. Like this. _Me,_ Marinette.” She presses a hand to her chest, thinks of Adrien saying, _I know there’s more._

This _is_ more; the question is whether Adrien will even realize it, if he’ll see her for who she is.  “Or it doesn’t count,” Marinette finishes softly.

“So what are you going to do?” Tikki asks, the doubt clear in her voice.

Marinette looks at the calendar, tallying up the days until the date she and Adrien agreed to terminate their relationship.

A month and a half. Forty six days.

That’s how long she has left to win over Adrien.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are still helpful, and we immensely appreciate the ones you left us last time! Feel free to leave some more! ;)


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